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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600242">(Unnegotiated) Consent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoreWren/pseuds/TeaJay'>TeaJay (LoreWren)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales Cerulean [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Exalted (Roleplaying Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Being Lent Out, Blow Jobs, Body Dysphoria, Bondage, Come Marking, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Demons, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Flogging, Hot Lintha-on-mortal action, Intercrural Sex, Lintha (Exalted), M/M, Oral Knotting, Orgasm Control, Pirates, Pregnancy Scares, Rope Bondage, Self-Harm, Subdrop, Subspace, Sword &amp; Song (setting), Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Tya (Exalted), Under-negotiated Kink, Xenophilia, magical contraceptives</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:41:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoreWren/pseuds/TeaJay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“No orders, Makisig,” the captain confirmed in the tone of a dismissal. “But feel free to avail yourself of the services.”</p><p>I swallowed hard as he glanced at my face for the first time since entering the room. My eyes flicked between his dick and his eyes, waiting.</p><p>  <i>Cheers to my beta, forbidden_librarian.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Admiral Verithine/Teller of Tales Cerulean, Lintha/Human, Lintha/Mortal, OMC/OMC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales Cerulean [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(Unnegotiated) Consent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Basic content warnings are in the tags; slightly spoilery warnings in the end notes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Knots secure, bosun?”</p><p>Makisig pulled at the rope around my wrists, checking they wouldn’t tighten or loosen, then hooked each through a gap in the grating, using the ship’s prison door as a pair of pulleys. “Secure, Captain. Shall I hitch the anchor?”</p><p>Verithine nodded. While quick fingers made quicker work of the knots, I blushed gradually deeper, waiting for someone to so much as look at me. Kneeling on the floor, I would be easy to miss by height, but the bosun was close enough that I could feel his warmth, close enough that it was difficult to keep my focus away from the exposed skin of a thigh, the hints of a bulge. </p><p>“All in order, sir,” Makisig pronounced. “Anything else?”</p><p>I swallowed. Verithine had been sparse on instructions today, just telling me to tie my saffron robe on reversed, so it opened in the back, which I hoped meant he’d taken me at my word when I had mentioned enjoying a good flogging. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about it if it were the bosun giving the lashes. He was an attractive man—assuming one liked blue skin and muscles, and I certainly did—but I’d seen him give a lashing, once. He’d been so hesitant.</p><p>“No orders, Makisig,” he confirmed, in the tone of a dismissal. “But feel free to avail yourself of the services.”</p><p>I swallowed hard as he glanced at my face for the first time since entering the room. My eyes flicked between his dick and his eyes, waiting.</p><p>He shifted some ties under the cloth around his waist and it fell, revealing that lovely fade from ocean blue to seawater green. I opened my mouth, and when he still didn’t move I used the old singing exercise to get warm air moving on the throat—or, in this case, in front of it.</p><p>The bosun grabbed me by the hair and then paused, apparently uncertain of inflicting even that level of pain. He looked at Verithine, so I did, too. </p><p>The captain made a brief hand-signal, Lintha code for “all clear, proceed as planned”. I snorted. Makisig pulled me onto his dick.</p><p>My eyelids fluttered shut as I leaned forward, groaning around the head of his cock. Then Makisig pulled me back and I glared up at him, wanting to grab him and show him I wanted this; he did not need to be so <em> polite </em> about it.</p><p>My hands ran into the rope as he backed up, just out of even my straining reach. I looked up to snap at him and caught his grin.</p><p>My cheeks burned. <em>Right. I probably make a fair picture, tied up and only trying to wrestle free so I can suck him off. </em>I heard Verithine barely suppress a laugh over my shoulder. </p><p>“Eager bitch you have there, captain. I can see why you needed him tied up.”</p><p>“Ah, he’s just hungry. Try giving him a snack.”</p><p>I hunched my shoulders, humiliated and only more aroused for it. Makisig moved maybe an inch forward, far enough that I could kiss and lick and breathe on him, but even that only straining. I whined, then cut that off when I realized, with a fresh shock of embarrassed desire, that I sounded like a dog begging for a treat.</p><p>“Patience,” the bosun said. I looked up without taking my mouth off his cock. “Sit up.”</p><p>This time I couldn’t help the whine, but I sat up straight, arms relaxing from the slack on the line. </p><p>“Now,” he murmured, “pay attention.” He stepped closer again, pressed the side of his dick to my mouth, holding my hair again so I couldn’t suck. “Lick.”</p><p>He gave instructions and I followed them,my eyes unfocusing. “Right here, just your lips.” </p><p>“Wrap your tongue around, <em> ah</em>, just like that.”</p><p>“Breathe on it like you did before.”</p><p>“There you are. Now open.”</p><p>I groaned as he finally put his cock in to my throat, lips stretching wide around the knot of flesh that I had discovered was not artistic interpretation. </p><p>Makisig’s attention shifted and I followed it to the captain. His eyes met mine and I shivered, whining again. </p><p>“Does your bitch usually swallow?”</p><p>The captain hummed, almost a laugh. “Usually. He likes having it on him, too.”</p><p>The bosun let go of my head a moment, leaving me freedom of movement for the first time in...minutes? Hours? I groaned and swallowed him down, <em> Yes, please, yes. </em></p><p>“Mm, sure seems—<em>ah</em>—the type,” Makisig said, pitch climbing until he stopped saying words, just sounds, running fingers along my scalp and fucking my throat.</p><p>My eyes rolled back as he came in me. The first hit as he was bottomed out and I swallowed so I wouldn’t choke, then he pulled out a little, hitting my tongue, my face. My tongue flicked out to catch a piece still clinging to his dick.</p><p>The bosun made an appreciative noise and knelt, pulling my face up. “Handsome bitch.” </p><p>My eyes rolled back again when he kissed me. It’s an experience, having someone lick at mouth and lips and tongue that still has their seed all across it, and one of my favorites. </p><p>“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled, tongue and throat still thick with want and come.</p><p>“Mm.” Makisig swiped his thumb across my eyebrow, catching a drop before it landed in my eye. “Good bitch.” He looked up. “Don’t suppose there’s something for me to clean myself up on?” Said like an inside joke. I cracked an eye at Verithine.</p><p>“Use his robe. I’ve been trying to get him to wear more blue.”</p><p>The robe was orange. It was also comfortable, and I was about to start up the old argument about my name meaning stories about the <em> ocean</em>, not the <em> color </em> when Makisig wiped his hand, then his face. <em> Oh. If I—if I walk back in this. </em></p><p>I swallowed, blood creeping back up my face, imagining the crew seeing me covered in someone else’s semen. Thinking of those crew who’d mentioned an enjoyment of going second, wondering how long it would take them to notice.</p><p>Makisig grinned, clearly having seen the thoughts cross my face. “I think I’ll catch some sleep while I can, captain. I have the night watch.” He saluted and gathered his wrap to wear, whistling something cheery to no tune I recognized as he departed.</p><p>Verithine tugged the ropes, pulling at me until I found my feet. “There’s a good bard. Now turn around.” </p><p>Not that I had much choice, as he pulled me like a marionette, retying ropes to hold me. He loosened my robe and I shivered, which quickly turned to shaking as he slid his hands down my hips to strip my pants. “Fuck,” I breathed. Every time I squirmed I felt Makisig’s semen on my skin, still dripping where it had gone on thick, flaking where it had already dried, the robe bunching stiff against me where it had set in. </p><p>The captain ran hands up my legs, then around my sides, reaching to undo the ties in front that bound my chest. That garment was carefully removed and left in my line of sight. I felt a pleasant twisting in my heart at that. Verithine was sweet.</p><p>The first slap of leather against my back was more surprise than pain; I didn’t know when he’d had a moment to pick it up. </p><p>The second was distinctly pain, biting with a bit of warmth following like an echo. I caught my breath. “If my bitch is very good”—a quick one, as much sound as pain, enough to make me jump—“and takes all his lashes”—two, rapidly enough to ring into each other—“then I might fuck him.”</p><p>I grabbed the grate in front of me hard, wishing for something solid enough to grind against. <em> Probably half the point of tying me here, instead of a post. </em></p><p>“Now, how many lashes does my bitch think he deserves?” </p><p>I sucked in a breath through the haze of pleasure-pain-arousal-want, reaching for words. “As—oh <em> fuck</em>—as many as my captain will give me, M-Master.”</p><p>“Mmm…” That sounded, more than anything, like when he sat down to a good meal with me at his feet. “Good answer.”</p><p>More, and more, and more—the pain built deliciously, waking my body, sharpening some thoughts and dulling others. My focus narrowed to what I could feel.</p><p>The blows started following a rhythm, in timing if not severity. Sharp from the tip, then thudding through me with its full weight, next a light strike that wouldn’t have even hurt if it hadn’t been aimed right at a spot he’d been hitting over and over. My knees went weak enough that my grip on the door turned necessary, and it just kept building, curling all through me as blood throbbed in my back, in my groin, on my ass when he struck a blow there.</p><p>My breath was shattered, short pants and deep gasps and desperate words. “May I please come, Master, please.”</p><p>The flogger thumped against my back again, and I curled my fingers and toes, trying. “I already told my bitch I’m not fucking him yet.”</p><p>I whined and reached in every direction, for a moment only supported by the cuffs on my wrists. “I know, not that, just, just, please, I have to, I can’t stop it, please.”</p><p>Verithine breathed deep, loud enough to hear over the creak of the ship and my whimpers. “You can come off this?”</p><p>“<em>Yes.</em>”</p><p>I heard his sharp-toothed grin. “Show me.” </p><p>Blows fell quicker than I knew a flogger could move, audibly slicing the air, snapping into my back hard enough to bruise, hard enough to bleed, and all driving me up and into an orgasm that had me climbing the grate. I only felt myself stop screaming when I ran out of air.</p><p>My knees hit the ground, so jarring I gasped, then moaned at the sensation of the cuffs biting into my wrists. I could kneel, though I had the feeling if I tried to sleep like this I might dislocate something.</p><p>My master would handle that. I shut my eyes and shivered with an aftershock, or maybe the feel of air moving across my back.</p><p>“Mmm…” He sounded pleased. “I knew my bitch was a singer, but that was impressive.” <em> Impressive? Oh. The scream. </em> “And I had no idea he was such a pain slut.”</p><p>I shifted up as his hand touched my back, leaning into the warmth and hurt. </p><p>“Now,” he rumbled, “what did you want?”</p><p>I blinked, twisting to look at him, puzzling over the question. My master laughed. The nice laugh, for a good joke, not the one where he was about to kill someone and needed them off-guard. Though I liked that one, too.</p><p>“Little bard,” he said, close enough to my ear I couldn’t see him anymore, just his hair, breathing the sweet salt smell of ocean air caught in it. “Tell me what you want me to do to you or I’ll leave you here all day.”</p><p>I shuddered. Tied up in the Lintha brig. Maybe he’d leave me alone, shivering, semen drying on me, or maybe he’d tell the crew to entertain themselves. The thought pulled a whine from my throat, and he’d asked for want.</p><p>I tried to speak, failed, and swallowed, wetting my mouth. “I want to get fucked, Master.”</p><p>His hands settled on my waist, lifting me, putting my feet under me without asking them to take all my weight. My master was so good to me. “Do you now?” The head of his dick pressed against my cunt, light enough to have been a tease if I weren’t still hypersensitive.</p><p>Some faraway thought tried to rise to the forefront, some vague feeling of danger, but it melted away as I twitched my hips, his cock moving between my thighs almost like it was mine.</p><p>“Answer me, little bard.”</p><p>“Yes,” I whined, leaning forward to press my cheek against the bars, “yes, please, yes.”</p><p>My master’s dick slid home, filling me in a way I hadn’t let anyone in years. The thought jangled faintly again before fading, along with everything else except my master’s cock fitting so perfectly, my master shifting the angle of my hips until he was satisfied with the sensation or my noises or something else, I didn’t care.</p><p>“You want me to come in you?”</p><p>“Yes, please, yes,” came out, more complicated words like <em> anything </em> and <em> use me </em> and <em> your skin on my back hurts, I love it</em>, falling by the wayside.</p><p>A bone-thrumming growl. “Good boy, good bitch,” he said, then repeated, matching rhythm to his thrusts, both speeding until I came again, and he followed swiftly.</p><p>I blinked. Time passed. He was untying me, then washing my back, my face, then wrapping me in something warm and easier than the ties on my clothing—his shirt, in fact—and then he was carrying me, setting me in his bed, putting out an arm I curled into. “Master,” I mumbled, my attempt at thanks, at affection.</p><p>He made one of those soothing Lintha noises, like a cat’s purr and a hush in one, grown deeper and stronger in his vocal register. “Sleep.”</p><p>I blinked one more time, this one lasting through early morning.</p>
<hr/><p>I woke too early to a painfully full bladder. I didn’t want to leave the warm bed or the comfort of Verithine’s arms, but after a bit of wrangling, I managed it. I hooked my arms under the shirt—closer to a loose robe on me—to pull it up enough to use the captain’s chamber pot. Couldn’t get his permission first, but the worst case likely was that he’d have me clean it.</p><p>I grimaced as I finished in the dim. I’d need to find the cloth I kept in my robe. My cycle shouldn’t be for another week or so, but it wasn’t always predictable, especially when I had been as physical as I had been. </p><p>I fumbled a bit before finding my robe, then the inner pocket. Luck had kept it free of last night’s mess.</p><p>Blood was already running down my leg, and felt thick enough that I’d be able to scrape some of it into the chamber pot, at least. <em> Should definitely tell Verithine, though. Don’t want him thinking he’s pissing blood. </em></p><p>I started mopping the worst of it off, deciding to put off a proper wash until the sun rose. It looked strange in the filtered moonlight, more white or silver than red.</p><p>The ship tilted. It kept tilting. I fell to the ground and scrubbed, remembered the oil Verithine kept in a drawer, took some, fumbling it and spilling, then righting it because I might need more, I just needed to get this out, <em> out </em>, it would all be fine if I got it all out, I just had to find all of it before it had a chance to take root. It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine.</p><p>By the time Verithine woke up I <em> was </em> bleeding, convinced that some of it had worked its way into my skin and I’d get pregnant from that, digging nails in.</p><p>“Good morning to y—<em>Cerulean!</em>”</p><p>“Go away,” I bit out, not stopping. He tried to take my hand and I swapped to the other, then tried to claw at him when he took both. </p><p>He had reach on me, and he didn’t flinch even when I jerked myself up to bite into him. Then I thought that if I did break skin, I’d have more of him in me, and that absurd thought had me jerking back like I’d been burned.</p><p>“Teller of Tales Cerulean,” he said, firm and even. “Do you know where you are.”</p><p>“On your demon-cursed excuse for a ship, now let me go; I will not; I <em> will not</em>.”</p><p>His eye twitched, likely more at the emotion behind the insult than the content of it. “You will not what.” That same tone, no shift even when a sentence should form a question.</p><p>“I don’t care if you want one, you wouldn’t be the one carrying it around 10 months, I will jump ship and swim if I have to but I will <em> not</em>.”</p><p>Understanding grew on his face. In the silence, I started feeling my body again. I’d been crying, apparently. My groin hurt like someone had taken a sharp spoon to it, but I’d had worse some months. My back was sore, too, but it didn’t feel like I’d torn any noteworthy wounds open while thrashing around. Most of yesterday must have been bruises; it felt of that muscle-deep ache.</p><p>“Ceru,” Verithine said, a different steady, the rolling ocean instead of overfirm earth. “You are not pregnant.” I flinched at the word, as though saying it would magic it true. “Look at me.”</p><p>I did. He must have seen something when I did; after a moment, he let me go. I sat on the bed, still shaking. He knelt in front of me, crouching to bring our heads level, but carefully not blocking the door.</p><p>“Lintha do not create progeny unless we will it. I didn’t. So, we won’t.”</p><p>“That’s—that’s not—“ I knew it was possible. It was a trainable skill, something about essence, or something you were born with. Maybe both, like being Dragonblooded. I also knew boys who blew by on ships, claiming they’d done the right meditations, and the handful of girls who listened, the swelling bellies.</p><p>“Ask any member of the crew. Ask anyone who knows of Lintha, when we dock.” </p><p>Reasonable options, or the closest to reasonable I was going to get, now that it had already happened. </p><p>I shoved past him to vomit into the chamber pot. <em> Well. If he hadn’t known I’d used it before. </em></p><p>Eventually I ran out of food in my stomach and dry heaved over it, Verithine’s hands steadying on my back. When I could hear, I recognized he was murmuring something in the tongue the Lintha used among themselves. I had a few words by now, mostly from curses, and so recognized, “Great Mother,” what they call the ocean.</p><p>“Wha—“ I coughed. “What are you saying?”</p><p>“I swear to the Great Mother,” he said in that same sea-steady way, “I did not.”</p><p>I shut my eyes. Eventually, I leaned back into him. Admiral Verithine was a pirate, and I had seen him murder, rob, and set fire to ships when the fancy struck him. But he was also a captain, and I did not believe he’d blaspheme against the ocean while his ship still rode her.</p><p>“Right,” I whispered.</p><p>He wrapped his arms around me, lightly at first, then unshakably when I pulled him closer. “Right?”</p><p>It was the smallest thing, the uncertainty in his tone. But it was the first time I had heard it from him for anything. I shuddered tension out. “Right.” I swallowed. “I would still rather we not...do that...again.”</p><p>I felt him nod above me. “Of course.”</p><p>“Not—I mean—“ I clenched my jaw, frustrated at my own incompetence with words.</p><p>“We don’t need to do anything. We dock in two weeks. Short enough.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” I said, sharply, and his arms went still. “I still want to try,” I said, forming a sentence word by word. “I just mean no sex where something goes in me like—“ I bit my tongue against another euphemism. “I do not want to have sex which includes something entering my vagina, even if I agree to it in the moment.” I exhaled sharply against the returning nausea.</p><p>“...That’s all?”</p><p>That uncertainty again. I managed a smile and twisted enough to look at him. “That’s all.”</p><p>He looked me up and down. It occurred to me that I’d probably gotten at least three bodily fluids on his shirt, and I looked down at it. “Ah.”</p><p>“Washing,” he said, firmly. “And later, when we are both in decent clothes, some conversations about what we want.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>During this story, Ceru—a tya, and in his case essentially a trans man—consents to vaginal sex while in a foggy headspace (no drugs, just subspace). Upon realizing this is the case, Ceru has a panic attack and dissociates, including some self-harm and (outward-directed) violence. </p><p>Lintha haven’t gotten a 3e overhaul as of this writing, but for the purposes of this story they all have the Selective Conception merit. (Ceru’s description of this merit is largely accurate—the direct text from 3e core is, “Perhaps this is the result of years of cultivated control of body and Essence, a divine blessing, or simply the benefit of lucky birth.”)</p><p>While I’m here: Makisig refers to what he’s doing as hitching the anchor because he’s using an anchor hitch. Sadly, Ceru does not know enough about knots to identify it at full speed, so I could not include this in the text proper.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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